


Cheers, to Our Host

by Croik



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Blood, Crueltide, M/M, Mild Cannibalism, Pre-Canon, cosmic horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-09-08 11:19:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8842708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Croik/pseuds/Croik
Summary: Deep underground, within the catacombs of their ancient ancestors, twelve ambitious young students of Byrgenwerth laid eyes on God.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [meradorm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meradorm/gifts).



Deep underground, within the catacombs of their ancient ancestors, twelve ambitious young students of Byrgenwerth laid eyes on God.

Having strayed far from their designated path and hopelessly separated from their instructors, the would-be scholars stumbled upon the dungeon chamber entirely by an accident that later generations would deem to be providence. They huddled together beneath their lanterns and were consumed and overwhelmed by the impossible spectacle before them. The creature bore no human characteristics. It defied all descriptive language, all rational thought. It was an entity so alien that all present were devastated by the perception of their own miniscule significance.

What wretches they were, too ignorant to even be considered children when faced with the living embodiment of the cosmic truth they presumed to seek. How pathetic their understanding, how worthless their existence. One glimpse, and the universe with all its tantalizing mysteries was robbed of every light, revealed to be impenetrable, unrelenting, and isolating. Not one of them understood the meaning of horror until that night.

But one stepped forward regardless. While the others cowered and wailed, Laurence dared to approach, his hands shaking but outstretched, his eyes unblinking. The image of his narrow silhouette against the shimmering luminescence of their host seared itself into the frenzied minds of his peers. Thus did the seed of his legacy take root, and in none more deeply than the youngest of their company, dear Wallar.

***

As he awoke from the ordeal, Wallar was already screaming. His brain was stuffed to overflowing with memories he didn't dare attempt to comprehend, leaving his senses in freefall and his body far beyond control. Terrified and in agony he thrashed amidst sweat-drenched sheets, panic his only course, until hands clasped his flailing limbs and a voice struck hard against his ear.

" _Quiet_ ," it said, not with urgency but with stern reassurance. Another hand clapped over his mouth, and though instinct drew his teeth together, it did not flinch or retreat. "Be quiet, Wallar, so that you can hear my voice. Listen to me, Wallar. I'm here with you—you're not alone. I won't leave you. I would never abandon you."

Alone. Abandoned. Wallar's screams turned to sobs and tears flooded his eyes, reliving with shattering clarity the emptiness of that dark chamber beneath the earth, Heaven so far removed from reach. But the voice continued to echo through his ears, and at length, he was able to quiet himself so that he could soak in every blessed word. "You're not alone," it said, over and over. "I'm here with you. I won't leave you."

At long last, Wallar calmed. He gave up his struggles and peered blearily up at the men and woman surrounding his bedside. The hands restraining him relaxed, and as he unclenched his teeth the long fingers that had covered them slid up his face, smoothing his bangs from his forehead. He tried to follow them to their source. "Who…?"

"It's Laurence," he said, and suddenly Wallar's mind was again alight with images he couldn't halt or parse, flashing behind his weary eyes. He remembered the shape of a man reaching toward the abyss and felt his sanity being tugged away. But just as he took a deep breath, fear in his throat, Laurence covered his mouth once more.

"Quiet," he said again. "You're all right now."

"Laurence, please," said another, and as Wallar's vision cleared he finally discerned he was in the clinic, a collection of nurses watching over him. Professor Trudent herself was leaning over him with a bottle in hand. "He needs this."

"No, he doesn't," Laurence said, boldly taking her wrist to urge her back. "He's all right. Aren't you, Wallar?"

He didn't uncover Wallar's mouth, which was just as well—he wasn't ready to use it yet. But Wallar nodded, drawing long breaths through his nostrils as the room gradually solidified around him. It reeked of copper that set his stomach roiling. When he was certain he could speak without screaming, he urged Laurence's hand down. "I'm well," he croaked, and then cleared his throat to try again. "I'm all right now."

Laurence nodded, seating himself on the edge of the bed. "Just relax for a while," he said as the nurses frowned and exchanged glances with each other. "Catch your breath. Drink some water."

He looked expectantly to one of the nurses, who stared back at him with clear ire before moving to fulfill his unspoken order. She returned with a full cup and helped Wallar to sit up so he could drink.

"Now this," said Professor Trudent as soon as he'd taken his first sip, offering up the bottle of sedative. "To calm your nerves."

"His nerves are calm enough," Laurence insisted. "Leave him be."

Wallar glanced between the two parties in bewilderment. He had no explanation for why Laurence of all people would take such a specific interest in his well-being, considering they shared barely more than a casual acquaintance. It put much needed warmth back in his chest. "I'm well," he assured the professor and nurses. "The water is enough, thank you."

Professor Trudent was not convinced, and she stared at him for several long moments, trying to appeal to his sense of respectful obligation. If obeying her had meant denying anyone _other_ than Laurence, Wallar might have conceded. But he did not, and she abandoned the effort. "Keep it close," she said, setting the bottle within reach on a bedside table. "Take more than you need."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Let me have some time alone with him," said Laurence. "I'll look after him."

Professor Trudent radiated displeasure. "If I leave you alone with him," she warned, "he becomes your responsibility."

"I'll look after him," Laurence repeated without falter.

The nurses continued to exchange mystified looks, but when they began to murmur, Professor Trudent shushed them. "Very well," she said to the room. "I'll be in my office if needed. The rest of you, back to your duties." She saved her final look for Wallar and then departed without another word. The nurses dispersed, leaving the two young men alone within the clinic's heavy curtains.

Laurence waited a minute longer, head cocked like a hunting dog as he listened to their footsteps recede and then silence. Only then did he return his full attention to Wallar. "Be honest with me: how do you feel?"

Wallar swallowed. He would have liked to lie, but it was _Laurence_ fixing him with urgent, expectant eyes _,_ Byrgenwerth's most celebrated student, protégé to Provost Willem himself. He may as well have been under royal decree. So he took in a deep breath, pausing long enough to be sure only coherent words would follow before speaking.

"I feel…afraid," he confessed, the only strength in his voice coming from Laurence's unblinking intensity. "As if something inside me is…trying to cry out, but…."

"I feel it, too," said Laurence. He clasped Wallar's hand and the vibration between his ribs grew more violent, but at the same time, more bearable somehow. "But you don't have to be afraid, Wallar. You're not alone."

"What happened to us?" Wallar tried to think back to that chamber beneath the earth, Laurence's proud silhouette, but his hands began to shake and his vision blurred. "What was—"

"Best you don't try to think about that, now," Laurence interrupted, so firm and so gentle that he sounded just like their wise master. "Give yourself time to accept it, and _then_ we can talk."

Wallar nodded, not because he really understood Laurence's meaning, but because he was too fragile to consider an alternative. "I'm sorry, but…why are you looking after me?" he asked instead. He glanced to their joined hands. "I didn't think…you even knew my name."

"Of course I know you," said Laurence, and seeing the direction of Wallar's stare, he gripped him even tighter. "Your father is Governor of Lindoy. My mother has family there – I've visited many times. We even met in person at your sister's christening not two summers ago."

Wallar remembered the christening exceedingly well. Though Laurence had indeed been in attendance, they had not spoken, and from Wallar's recollection he had not acknowledged his host with so much as a glance. Even so, Wallar replied, "Oh, yes. I remember."

"You see? We're practically family." Laurence added his second hand to the first covering Wallar's. "In fact, I think it best that we become roommates from now on."

Wallar stumbled after his response, dumbfounded. The intensity of Laurence's continued attention to him was beginning to make him blush. "Roommates? But…what of your Edmund?"

Laurence's eyes went momentarily glossy, his grip on Wallar's hand taut and cold. Then he shook himself. "Edmund is dead."

"What?" Wallar's insides turned as Laurence let go of him and stood from the bed. "Edmund…but how? When?"

"He killed himself down in the caves." Laurence picked up the cup Wallar had been drinking from, and though it was still mostly full, he refilled it at the pitcher anyway. "Broke his skull open against the walls."

Wallar covered his mouth as a taste of bile rose up his throat. His ears rung with the sick _thunk_ of a bone and skin against stone. Coherency slipped through his mind's fingers and it wasn't until Laurence handed him the refreshed cup that he regained enough of it to speak. "But he…. You think it was…."

"Your roommate, Piotr, is dead as well," said Laurence, and he drew back the curtain shielding them in from the rest of the clinic, revealing another bed. The linens had been stripped but there was still a heavy odor of blood in the air, and glimpses of it along the bedrails and on the floor. Wallar lurched back, spilling some of his water, but Laurence carried on without falter. "He was the first of you to awaken upon our return, but he had lost all sense. He cut his throat open with a broken bottle before Professor Trudent could stop him."

Wallar's eyes locked to a stain that had sunk into the floorboards. "He took his life…?"

"Jozef is gone as well – fled deeper into the labyrinth." Laurence returned; only his hand once again covering Wallar's could have drawn his attention away from the blood. "The others were calmed by sedatives, but we are all in peril, Wallar. We are all so very fragile. Do you see now why I look after you?"

Wallar shuddered and thought he might never stop, but when Laurence urged the cup to his lips, he did find the strength to drink. "Yes," he said afterward. "Yes, thank you, Laurence." He managed a shaky smile. "I think you may have saved my life."

Laurence smiled as well, with such wise sincerity that the last of the cold eased out of Wallar's extremities. "I am glad to hear you say so. Well? Will you room with me? I'd like to look after you a bit longer, if you'll permit me to."

"Y-Yes," stammered Wallar. He could have hardly done otherwise. "Yes, if the headmaster allows it."

"Good. Thank you, Wallar."

Laurence drew the cup to his own lips, and Wallar, still gripping it as well, held very still so as not to spill. The image of Laurence's downturned eyes and plush lips engraved themselves upon the young Wallar as vividly as his hands raised toward God. He was from then on forever in Laurence's service.

***

In the days after the encounter and subsequent deaths, a hush fell over Byrgenwerth. Those of Laurence's company disappeared from the lecture halls, whisked away by the highest and wisest of their instructors to endure vigorous interrogation. Again and again Wallar and his peers were prodded for answers while at the same time coddled like babes, their masters urgent one moment and placating the next. They had so little to give. For two weeks they were sequestered even from each other, under constant supervision and given mundane chores and practices to keep them occupied, only to subject them again to sanity-testing speculations and then glut them on sedatives.

It was Esme, a young heiress and brilliant mathematician, who finally revealed to Professor Harless the path they had taken through the labyrinth. She took her own life hours later, throwing herself headfirst from a second floor window.

A week later, the headmaster approved Laurence's request to join Wallar in his dormitory. They cohabitated very successfully, and as time passed, peace and order returned to the secluded campus. The tragedy of students lost and the discovery that had instigated it was relegated to whispers among those least informed of what had actually transpired. And so the school carried on, until another fateful night.

Wallar was huddled in bed, reading from a biology text in preparation for the next morning's class, when the door burst open. Laurence hurried inside, his robes fluttering like a flock of crows in his haste to close and bolt the door behind him. Though Wallar knew Laurence to be of an unrelentingly composed disposition, in that moment his eyes were wild, his breath heaving. He was clutching a small jar in white and trembling hands.

Wallar blinked at him curiously. "Laurence?"

" _Hush_ ," said Laurence, and immediately Wallar did so. He waited at the door for nearly a full minute longer, poised and anxious. Drawn in by his uncharacteristic fervor, Wallar held his breath. A sound of footsteps in the hall beyond put his heart in his throat, but they soon passed, and once they had faded entirely Laurence at last abandoned his vigil.

"I thought he'd seen me for sure," said Laurence, his mania transforming to giddiness—equally unlike him—as he moved deeper into the room. He dropped onto Wallar's bed and gestured impatiently. "Put that silly thing away and look at this."

Wallar noted his page in the text and then closed it, setting it aside. "Laurence, what's the matter? You're sweating."

"You would be, too, if you'd been there." Laurence grinned with breathless delight as he opened his hands to reveal his prize. "Look, Wallar."

Wallar leaned forward against his crossed legs for a better look. The jar was clear glass, unlabeled and tightly sealed. It contained a pale liquid that stuck to the sides when jostled by Laurence's unsteady grip—a familiar consistency, if not color. Wallace had never seen it before, but his heart clenched with horror nonetheless. He watched the contents slosh back and forth and could hear it through the jar, wet and sick and echoing down his deepest chambers.

"What is it?" he whispered, trembling beneath the surge of a memory he had fought hard the past weeks to repress. "Oh God, what _is_ it?"

"It's blood," said Laurence, even though Wallar already knew as much. He grinned, and the flash of his teeth in the candlelight was frightening. "It's _blood_ , Wallar. Touch it—it's still warm."

He reached forward; Wallar recoiled. It took a softer grin and some soothing words, and even then Wallar was shaking so much he worried he would jostle Laurence's find to the ground. His fingertips brushed the glass and were saturated with an unnatural heat, both scorching and freezing at once. He solidified in place and couldn't draw his hand away.

"Professor Harless went down into the catacombs," said Laurence, hushed and eager. "I overheard from Master Willem. I don't know how they were able to keep it from us, but he's been gone for days and only just tonight returned. And he brought this with him."

"What…." Wallar licked his lips, needing a moment longer to compose his thoughts to words. "Did he say…what he took it from?"

"No." Laurence rubbed his thumb back and forth against the jar's seal. "In fact, he's not spoken a word to anyone since he returned, so they said. He's confined to his room with a chaperone." His eyes were so wide and they all but sparkled in the darkened room. "But I think we both know."

Wallar finally found the strength to draw his hand back. "You remember, don't you?" Laurence continued regardless. "The others barely do—drowned in Trudent's sedatives. But you and I remember _everything_."

"Yes," Wallar confessed weakly. He sank deeper into his robe. "Everything."

Laurence nodded, as if Wallar had agreed to something more than he intended. "I knew I could come to you with this," he said, and his confidence was gratifying, up until he started to peel off the seal.

Wallar went taut with panic. "What are you doing?"

Laurence's eyes all but glowed. "I'm going to try it."

Wallar's hand shot out. It was beyond his conscious control and he had no idea what he intended to do, but it didn't matter; Laurence lurched quickly out of range. "No," said Wallar automatically, and when Laurence climbed from the bed, he followed. "Laurence, no!"

"Hush," Laurence scolded, backing away as he continued to unravel the seal. "You'll rouse the whole floor."

Wallar reached again for the jar, and again Laurence evaded. "Laurence, _no_ ," he repeated, struggling to keep his voice down despite his urgency. "You can't simply—just— _consume_ something, without knowing what it is, where it came from?"

"We _know_ what it is and where it came from." Laurence finished peeling away the seal, but had to pause before uncapping it when Wallar continued after him. "How much blood have you consumed since coming here? All to your benefit?"

"It was _you_ who insisted I not take the sedatives!"

Laurence dodged another attempt, knocking several books off his desk in the process. "That was different. Come man, have some courage! It's just a sip—"

Wallar shook all over at the thought. "It could kill you," he said.

"Nonsense," Laurence replied. "It's only blood."

He flipped the metal latch, and the lid opened with a quiet pop. Immediately a thick, sweet odor filled the room, and Wallar's knees went weak, tears in his eyes. " _Laurence_ ," he pleaded. "You can't. If—If the Provost finds out, you'll be expelled!"

Laurence scoffed, and he anticipated another lunge, climbing up onto his bed to avoid Wallar's grasping hands. "Expel _me_? Don't be absurd."

He lifted the jar toward his mouth. Wallar stared, wide-eyed and panicked, and at last blurted out, "If you consume an unknown substance without proper witnesses and a control, your findings will be invalidated!"

Laurence stopped. He stared into the jar, so close already to his lips, and a war of will and reason played out across his gaping eyes. At last, he closed the lid and fastened it tight.

"You're right," he said. "We must proceed very carefully." He hopped off the bed and gave Wallar a sound clap on the shoulder. "Thank you, Wallar."

He tucked the jar into his robes as he moved away, and Wallar's knees buckled, depositing him roughly to the floor. Laurence didn't seem to notice at all as he lit another candle at the desk they shared and drew ink and paper closer. "We must be careful," he said again, his pen scratching across the page. "There are so few who can be trusted."

Wallar watched him from the floor. His heart was still fluttering about behind his ribs and he could scarcely breathe, tortured still by vivid imaginations of Laurence swept up in bloody death throes. "What are…." His voice broke, and he cleared his throat to try again. "What are you writing?"

"I'm making a list." Laurence glanced at him twice before it seemed to register that his roommate was in distress, and with a chuckle he offered his hand. "Come up, Wallar, and see for yourself. I need your opinion."

Wallar gulped, and when he accepted Laurence's hand, it spread a sickening warmth down his forearm just like touching the blood. Even so he clung tight as Laurence helped him to stand. "Look here," said Laurence, urging him to sit at the desk and pushing the list in front of him. "Eight of us remain from the twelve that went into the tomb. But I doubt dear Valessa has the strength to endure an experiment, and Thylip cannot be trusted not to rush to Master Willem." He leaned over Wallar's shoulder to point out each name. "That leaves you and I, Urbain, Atheny, Gerhman, and Brigette."

"Brigette cannot be trusted, either," said Wallar, still somewhat dazed. "She despises you for what you led us to."

" _Despises_?" Laurence frowned deeply, and Wallar regretted having said too much, but then he shook his head. "How unfortunate."

"What about Gremia?" Wallar suggested as a kind of atonement. "She was friends with Esme, and I know…I heard…she said she was jealous of whatever knowledge Esme took to her grave."

"Intriguing." Laurence crossed out one name and scrawled in the other, leaning into Wallar's shoulder in the process. "You should be the one to speak to her, then, along with Atheny. I'll take care of Gerhman and Urbain."

"I'm…what?" Wallar blinked at him in confusion. "What am I telling her?"

"We'll meet tomorrow night after curfew," said Laurence, and he ushered Wallar out of the seat so he could take his place. "Leave separately after dark and meet at the old mill, up in the village." He drew a fresh sheet to him and began to write so quickly and with such harsh strokes that Wallar could barely read the letters. "Tell them not to consume any sedative before then, of Trudent's making or otherwise. We'll need to be as clean as possible." He stopped writing abruptly and looked to Wallar. "When was the last time you took some?"

Wallar gulped again. "Not since before…the catacombs."

Laurence turned in the seat to give him is full attention. "You're serious?" he asked, his tone unexpectedly strict. "Not one drop, even after the number of times the professors interrogated you?"

"Not a drop." Wallar wasn't sure what to make of Laurence's expression, not that he would have lied for his favor anyhow. "You were…so insistent, when I awoke, I thought…there was some purpose to…."

Laurence touched his mouth thoughtfully as he continued to regard his roommate with near unblinking interest. "For my sake, then?" he said. "Because I asked it of you?" His eyes narrowed, though with good humor. "I suppose that must mean _you_ , at least, don't despise me."

"No," Wallar hurried to reply. Even with the horrible imprints of unearthly warmth still tainting his skin, they were suddenly dwarfed by the heat in his face. "No I…whatever the antithesis of 'despise' is…I suppose."

Another long moment of consideration followed, and then Laurence smiled, slow and soft. "I knew I was right to trust you," he said, and when he stood, Wallar fell completely still. Laurence's hands taking his were nearly scorching. "You'll help me, won't you, Wallar? We're the only ones who can endure this terrible truth we stumbled upon, who can translate and present it to the world, and I can't do it alone. Will you stay by my side?"

"Of course." Wallar gripped Laurence's hands and stood tall before him. "Always."

***

Wallar went to Atheny and Gremia separately, conveying through nervous whispers the outline of their plan. Neither was difficult to convince. He carried out the rest of his day in a nervous haze, worn thin by efforts of secrecy. Though he was well aware that many students went on excursions beyond the campus under cover of night, it had never been within his character to participate. The thought of defying the provost's will frightened him almost more than anticipation of whatever experiment Laurence intended to conduct. Paranoia prevented him from seeking out his accomplice throughout their seminars and meals, depriving him of much needed consolation. By the time evening fell, he was a tangle of nerves.

But then he returned to the dormitory, and Laurence clasped his hand and smiled at him. He found his courage.

They crept out into the night. Laurence had already packed two thick satchels and each carried one through a swift and wordless escape from the campus. It wasn't until they were far beyond the gate and within the cover of ancient trees that Laurence lit a lamp for them, and they continued onward, up the cobbled path through the forest.

"Mind your footing," Laurence warned. "This wood is full of poisonous snakes." Wallar continued with one eye on the ground, following the hem of Laurence's pant leg.

They were the first to reach the windmill, and immediately they set to work. Wallar drew empty crates and barrels together while Laurence emptied his satchels atop them. He had brought a collection of leather-bound ledgers and writing boards, inkwells and quills, empty vials and transfusion equipment. Wallar watched him work, both emboldened and terrified by his eagerness. Last came his prized jar of unidentifiable blood, pulled from his breast pocket. He kept it close at hand as he worked.

Atheny and Gremia were next to arrive, the former stone-faced and the latter alight with curiosity. Laurence was careful to hide the fateful jar from them as he supplied them with writing utensils. Gehrman came next, alone. Wallar had known him to be a reserved but dependable young man, and was pleased by his inclusion. Last was Urbain, but he did not come alone; he was accompanied by a tall, broad-shouldered third year student, who regarded the assembly with a cold and suspicious air. The sharp flick of his gaze over each of them gave Wallar a chill, and he could see even Laurence wind taut with displeasure.

Nonetheless, Laurence greeted him amicably with hand outstretched. "Olek. Good to see you join us."

"I'm sorry, Laurence," said Urbain, fidgeting. "He saw me leaving the hall, and—"

"I thought you might be trying to sneak back into the tombs," Olek interrupted. He had a voice like a bear and a jaw like granite. "I heard about Professor Harless, too, you know."

Laurence showed no sign of intimidation. "We're here to conduct an experiment," he said plainly. "Would you prefer to report us to the Provost, or to participate?"

"I will observe, for now." Olek glanced to each of the others in turn, likely committing their faces to memory. "You all interest me."

"Happy to hear it," said Laurence, motioning for him to take a seat within the half circle of crates they had arranged. "If you please."

Olek did so, and as he was settled, the rest of the gathered students did the same. Wallar joined them, his palms already clammy and fingers stiff around his quill. He watched Laurence take to the center of them and was torn with indecision, excitement, and dread. He half expected the old wood around them to splinter and peel open, revealing infinity, with only their brightest start to stand against it.

"Firstly, allow me to thank you all for coming," Laurence began, with greater clarity and authority than even some of their professors could muster. "I'm well aware of and appreciate the risk each of you has undertaken to be here. Not only must we fear punishment from our scholarly elders, but as our departed friends have proven, the truths which we pursue cannot be underestimated in their ability to affect us." He smiled, opening his hands to them. "Never the less, here you are, and I am honored."

"It's not you we're here for," said Gremia, fingering her braids in eager anticipation. "It's whatever you're about to propose."

Ubain cast her a sharp glance from beneath his cap. "Speak for yourself," he said, though his tone softened once his eyes were again on Laurence. "None of the knowledge we hold now would even be possible if not for Laurence. _I_ am here for him."

Wallar felt his cheeks grow hot in watching Laurence smile appreciatively at the older boy. "As am I," he said quickly, and for a moment Laurence's smile was only for him, and his chest swelled. "I trust you, Laurence."

"We may each have different reasons for being here," added Atheny, "but we _are_ here, at great risk. I think it's time you tell us why."

Everyone sat up a bit taller, anticipating they did not know what. Laurence was not of a mind to keep them in suspense. "Very well," he said, and he withdrew the jar from his robe.

Wallar shuddered and felt his peers do the same. "I have here a sample of blood," said Laurence, though his explanation was hardly necessary; humankind had enough of its basest instinct intact that each of them understood immediately what he held. "Drawn from a living creature within the labyrinth. What manner of creature, I cannot say, as it was not I who obtained it. For that knowledge, we can only hope that Professor Harless unseals his lips for us. In the meantime, we must draw what conclusions we can from the blood itself."

The assembly was momentarily silent as it contemplated his intensions. Having already seen what Laurence meant to do with their precious sample, Wallar looked on in trepidation rather than excitement, and he tried several times to loosen his voice. It was soft-spoken Gehrman who beat him to it.

"Provost William will have noticed its absence," he said. "And he will know it was you who took it."

"Yes, I imagine so," Laurence replied.

Urbain fidgeted atop his barrel. "Then won't he be searching for us already? Surely he'll send Dores to—"

"If Master Willem wished to prevent me from using this blood," interrupted Laurence, "he would have done so by now. You all agree I must be his prime suspect, and yet nearly twenty-four hours have passed without a word from him or anyone else. What do you consider his inaction to be if not his consent?"

"You assume too much," warned Gehrman, and Wallar thought to come to Laurence's defense, but again he was too slow.

"There's no use worrying about that now," said Olek. "Tell us what you mean to do with the blood."

"Yes," chirped Gremia. "Let's proceed."

Urbain and Atheny nodded agreement, so with a quiet sigh Gehrman ceased his protests. Seeing he had their faith again, Laurence resumed. "I won't be coy with you," he said, displaying the jar of blood to each of them in turn. "I believe this blood to have been drawn from the entity we came upon in the caverns." Those that had witnessed it flinched with the mention. "As I understand, this is only a small sample of what Professor Harless returned with, as Master Willem has already reserved some to be studied by scope, some to be stored, and even some to be distilled."

"You think he intends to refine it into a sedative?" asked Atheny. "Or some other elixir of unknown effect?"

"I do. That would be my chosen course, were it up to me." Laurence cradled the jar in both hands, regarding it with an almost hungry gleam in his eyes. "Alas, I don't have the time or the means. Only these raw spoils."

The air in the mill changed. Laurence's intentions were suddenly very clear to them, and Wallar waited with breath held for them to voice their objections. Surely they would come to the conclusion he had the night before, that to consume the substance was reckless folly doomed to be met with death or worse. But none spoke a word, and as Laurence shone at the center of them, determined and brilliant, Wallar found he could not object, either.

Laurence placed the jar on the crate that held his remaining supplies. "Firstly, my current physical state," he declared. "Just like any experiment we've conducted on each other through our schooling, we'll need a record of my pre-consumption vitals. These instruments, at least, were not difficult to borrow." He flicked open the first few buttons of his shirt and both cufflinks. "From there, a sample of my blood will be drawn, enough to be divided into two portions." His lip curled. "I think you can all discern the rest from there."

He passed a stethoscope to Gremia, whose interest in the proceedings had sharpened to a near frightening intensity. "You intend to drink all of it and leave none for us?" she asked as she clasped the drum to the inside of his wrist.

"I would never be so selfish," Laurence assured her. "Nor so inefficient. But I recommend we start with only one subject for now, in case it has a lethal effect."

Wallar gripped his writing board tight, and almost forgot to take down Gremia's report once she was finished. Urbain took Laurence's pulse as well, and the rest of them were equally thorough in studying his blood pressure, his breathing, and examining his skin, eyes, mouth, and ears. Once assured that he was in observably fine health, he instructed each of them to take their own pulse, and write a short description of their own physical and mental condition. That concluded, he retrieved a syringe from his things and offered it to Wallar.

"Would you do the honors?" he asked.

Wallar set down his writing instruments, but when he reached for the syringe, his hands were quaking, and he swiftly confined them to his lap. "I would, but…."

Laurence smiled with patience and instead turned to Gehrman. "I hear you have a steady hand."

Gehrman nodded, and without a word he prepared the needle. Laurence held very still and did not flinch when pierced. As they filled two vials with his blood, Olek remarked, "I hope you brought something to eat, or we may be carrying you back to Byrgenwerth."

"If so, you're the strongest of us here," Laurence replied. "I look forward to benefitting from it." The tightening of Olek's expression was beyond interpretation.

The first vial of Laurence's blood was sealed and stowed, for a later comparison, he said. The second he offered to Gremia, which she accepted, her eyes wide.

"You mean for me to drink it fresh?" she asked, though she did not sound put out one bit at the prospect. "Straight from your vein like a vampire?"

"Before, and after," said Laurence without hesitation or humor, winding a length of gauze around his punctured forearm.

Gremia tipped her head back and drank. She smacked her lips in exaggerated fashion and then bared her teeth, to the amusement of her audience. "It tastes like blood," she said as she scrawled her notes, but though her tone was flippant, there was no disguising the exhilaration in her face. It took Wallar some moments to realize the new heat burning within his chest might have been envy.

Laurence retrieved their unearthly sample along with an empty vial, and his peers hushed, each drawn tight with impatient reverence. "In a more accommodating setting, we would of course take far more precautions than this," he said, returning to the center of their small assembly. "But as Master Willem is fond of saying, it is a lack of courage that will doom us, not a lack of ceremony." He flicked the latch, and the jar popped open, its pungent aroma filtering quickly through the chilled air. He poured a small measure of the thick, clear blood into the vial. His voice lowered. "Let it never be said that I lack courage."

He sealed the jar once more and tucked it into his robes. Seeing him poised to take the final step, Wallar wavered in his seat, faint with equal parts terror and enthusiasm. Though his dread was absolute, he could not bring himself to halt his friend. Trembling, he took a breath. "Good luck," he said, but Laurence was already drawing the vial to his lips and made no indication that he'd heard.

Everyone held their breath as Laurence swallowed the blood down. His face screwed up, and with every drop gone he let out a breathy sound of disgust. It took his hand clapped to his mouth to keep from retching. While the others recorded their observations Wallar took to his feet, intending to come to his friend's aid, but then Laurence flung the vial to the floor. The shattering glass startled him into his seat once more.

"Laruence?" said Wallar, his voice shaking.

Laurence held his hand up in a silencing gesture. Gradually, he came back to his composure, and he drew his hand from his mouth to instead push his hair from his face. He scanned his companions and offered a frail smile. "It tastes like blood," he said.

The others chuckled, though they were still wary, and Wallar beside himself with concern. "It truly does," Laurence continued more seriously. "As pungent as it smells, but still familiar. For as long as it's been confined to the jar, it's still warm as if fresh." He feathered a hand across his stomach. "I can still feel it."

"It's been one minute," said Atheny, eyes on her pocket watch.

Wallar grimaced at the scratching of quills. "What else?" he pressed. "You look flushed."

"I do feel warm," Laurence confessed, and when he offered his hand, his palm was hot and sweating. He laughed breathlessly. "And my heart is _racing_ , though that may very well be my own excitement.

Gremia took his pulse at his wrist. "Elevated," she confirmed, writing it down. "We should have taken your temperature."

"It's not worth noting," said Laurence, but then he swayed, and his eyes sweeping the mill were unfocused, maybe even dilated. It was difficult to tell in the lamp light. "I don't feel…very different at all…"

Wallar, still gripping Laurence's hand, felt clearly when the strength went out of him. He jumped to his feet, his writings and ink tumbling to the ground unnoticed, just in time to catch a swooning Laurence against his chest. Urbain hurried to assist, and together they were able to guide Laurence onto Wallar's crate.

"'tis nothing," Laurence insisted, but his words slurred as if he were intoxicated. "I'm all right."

"Tell us what you're feeling, damn you," said Gremia. "Be specific!"

Urbain shot her a cold look. "Give him a moment. He's—"

"I'm all right," Laurence said again, and he pushed at Urbain as if to urge him back, but he had no strength for it. "She's right. I need to…." A deep breath seemed to steady him, but though he turned his head toward Gremia, he still had a difficult time focusing on her. "It feels as if I'm drifting," he explained. "Everything is…soft. No…liquid." He stared down at his open palms in fascination. "Could it be…I'm in Her bloodstream? Is that what this feels like?"

"Are you nauseated?" asked Atheny, not looking at her notes as she wrote them. Her eyes, like all of theirs, were locked on Laurence. "Is it unpleasant?"

"No, not at all. It is…exceedingly pleasant…."

He leaned back, and Wallar was quick to support him. "I feel as if…I can see it," he carried on drowsily, obvious to how much of his weight was depending on his peer. "Just behind my eyes…it's so close…." He fumbled at his robes. "I need more."

Wallar reached over his shoulder, into his robes, and retrieved the jar. Five pair of eyes followed it being tucked into his own pocket. "Not yet," he said, feeling suddenly like a mouse among vipers. "You said yourself we have to be careful."

Laurence grumbled with dissatisfaction. "But I can _see_ it," he insisted. "I can hear the water…."

His voice trailed off in a deep, pleased reverberation that drew each of them silent. He was breathing heavily, his skin deeply flushed, as if caught between states of inebriation and arousal. His peers eyed him as if he were meat. Wallar gulped as his own pulse hitched and heat crept into his ears. As improbable as it was, he was convinced he could still smell the uncapped blood in the moldy air. It tickled the back of his throat. He adjusted his steadying grip on Laurence's shoulders to help focus himself.

"It's not...quite...the same as what we're accustomed to, from what we can observe," he said, clumsily trying to make light. The others were watching Laurence with such piercing attention that it gave him goose bumps. "With the sedatives, I mean. But I suppose you could say...it's of a similar—"

"I want some," Gremia interrupted, though she was still watching only Laurence. "Give it to me."

Wallar flinched, but he couldn't retreat, not when doing so would have doubtlessly let Laurence drop to the mill floor. "I don't think—"

"You all saw something, down in those caves. You encountered real truth." At last she tore her gaze away, fixing it instead on Wallar. He shivered beneath what might have been true malice. "I need to know for myself. Give me the jar."

Wallar stood frozen by her, as if there were serpents threatening to emerge from her braids. "No," he said, though he could barely muster a whisper.

"Give me the jar," Gremia said again, and suddenly he could see her words reflected in Urbain and Atheny's faces as well. "Now."

She stood. Wallar clutched his robe closed, fearing she would lunge at him, and she very nearly did—until Gehrman took her elbow from behind. Immediately she turned to fend him off, curses on her lips, and soon everyone was on their feet. Wallar feared a scuffle would break out, but then Laurence abruptly took Gremia's other arm. His voice, though soft and almost drawling, cut across their confusion like the snap of a whip.

"Take it from me," he said, and he let go of Gremia's arm so he could slide the bandage from his forearm where they had taken his blood earlier. "Take my blood."

"What good would that do?" questioned Atheny. "You _ingested_ it, not injected."

"It doesn't matter." Laurence pressed his thumbnail hard into the small puncture wound until a drop of blood oozed to the surface. "I can already feel it all through me. And besides...." He offered his arm up to her. "We must continue the experiment."

Gremia eyed him hungrily, casting a quick glance first at Gehrman and then at Wallar to be sure neither would interfere. Reassured, she dropped to her knees and took Laurence's outstretched arm reverently, like a knight receiving an honored sword. Then her lips were sealed around the wound, and Wallar turned squeamishly away.

The others drew closer. Even Gehrman watched with uneasy fascination. Wallar tried to shrink away while still providing support to his friend, but already he felt surrounded and overpowered. "Laurence?" he asked weakly.

Laurence sighed and reached up with his free hand, finding and squeezing Wallar's arm. "Stop fretting," he said. "It's all right."

Gremia lifted her head with a swift intake of breath. "Ohh, he was right," she murmured, and she even swayed a little as if already under the blood's effect. "It's so much sweeter than only a moment ago." She licked her lips with satisfaction. "I think I can taste it in him."

"Let me," said Atheny, displaying more urgency than she had all night in urging Gremia aside. Laurence gave no complaint as she, too, suckled from his vein. She stayed longer than Gremia had, despite the impatience of her peers, and when she pulled back her eyes were glossy with intoxication. " _Yes_ ," she all but hissed. "Yes, she's right—I taste it, too. It's inside me."

Urbain pushed her roughly out of the way. "Now, me," he said, but he only managed to lap up a stray drop before Gremia was suddenly back, using her broad shoulders and narrow elbows to force him aside. She yanked Laurence's arm to her and he startled, teeth in his skin.

"Gremia!" Aghast, Wallar reached for her. "Stop, you're—"

Laurence took his wrist before he could touch her. "It's all right," he murmured, and though he sounded half out of his mind Wallar could not say anything against him. "Let her drink. She wants to know."

"It's not fair," Urbain started to whine, but then Laurence stretched out his other arm to him. 

"Come," he said. "Come drink of me, brother."

Urbain wasted no time. He snatched up Laurence's arm, forced his sleeve back and sank his teeth into the delicate flesh of his wrist. He drank ravenously as Wallar looked on in horror.

"No—what's the matter with you?" Wallar pushed at the top of Gremia's head, but she gripped Laurence tighter, pausing in her suckling only to snarl at Wallar like a starved dog. "Gremia—Urbain—you have to stop, you're hurting him!"

He looked past them, desperate for aid from those remaining, but the blood's pungent aroma was in the air and none were unaffected. Atheny was licking and fingering her lips as she awaited another turn, and even Gehrman's normally clear eyes were glazed with hunger. Olek's face was stone up until the moment he took action. He surged forward all at once, almost stepping on Urbain and Gremia in his haste. He struck Wallar in the chest, his greater weight more than a match for Wallar's height. Wallar yelped as he was thrown to the floor. Laurence sagged with the absence of a body at his back, but then Olek grabbed fistfuls of his hair and drew him in, crushing their mouths together.

At first, Laurence struggled against the assault, but with both arms restrained he had no leverage and no defense. As the stench of of blood grew ever thicker, his groans of protest softened, becoming almost eager. He surrendered to Olek's voracity, forgoing resistance even when Atheny drew his robe away from his throat. The flash of her teeth in the lamp light forced panic through Wallar's chest.

He was hungry, too. Laurence's blood in his nostrils, Laurence's soft, pale skin begging to be rent, Laurence's quiet moans of surreal ecstasy—they were wearing him down as well as any of them, and his stomach churned enviously as he watched them feed. _He_ had received Laurence's favor and protection, _he_ had been entrusted the secret of the blood from the start, and he deserved its bounty more than anyone. Seeing Atheny sink her incisors into the curve of Laurence's shoulder focused his terror into jealousy, and he threw himself upon her. He felt as a beast and was ashamed of himself, but they were beasts even more so, and he had to put an end to it.

"Stop it!" Wallar shouted, grabbing the women by their hair, shoving and kicking to try and pry them loose. "Get away from him!"

The door to the mill opened with a loud creak, but it barely registered with any of them until a man shouted, "Oy! What goes on here?"

It was youthful instinct that woke the students from their stupor. All eyes turned to find a pair of villagers entering the mill, one holding the lamp and another a rifle. They may as well have been the headmaster for all the trouble they represented. "Who's there?" one called, though he was soon rounding the beams and able to get a good look at the intruders. "Some university boys?"

They scattered like cockroaches from a torch. Abandoning their ledgers and inks, the two girls fled first, dashing out the mill's side door with Olek and Urbain close behind. Laurence collapsed again into Wallar's unsteady arms. With the villagers startled, grasping at the fleeing youths, Wallar only had a moment to try and gather his friend up. His strength might have been enough in better circumstances, but with his senses clogged and coppery, his hands shaking, he could barely lift Laurence from the crate.

"What the devil are you up to in here?" the villagers continued to yell as they came closer. Wallar feared they were well and truly caught, until suddenly Gehrman was beside him, gathering up the semi-conscious Laurence against his chest.

Wallar gaped at him. "Gehr—"

" _Run_ ," said Gehrman, and he took off toward the closest exit. Wallar had only barely enough presence of mind to grab Laurence's satchels before giving chase.

They scrambled down the steep hillside behind the mill, a growing number of angry voice hurrying them onward. Once they were within the cover of the trees, their path was plunged into blackness, and there they paused to regain their bearings and their breath. "I should have taken the lamp," said Wallar. He searched the bags he had managed to bring but there were only matches to light their way. "Is he still bleeding?"

Gehrman lowered himself to his knees, and Laurence with him. The latter was muttering quietly to himself, barely conscious. "Yes," said Gehrman, holding out Laurence's arm so that Wallar could wind a length of cloth over the wound there. "He's lost so much…."

"He'll be all right once we get back to the school," Wallar said, assuring himself as much as his company. He secured dressings over both of Laurence's forearms, who remained oblivious to him. The blood stuck to his fingers, and even though he resisted the urge to suck them clean, he could feel the tiny cells burrowing into his own. "Heavens, look what they've done to him. How could so little blood be so potent?" He reached into his bag for more gauze. "I would blame the creature of the tombs, but…Gremia and Olek, they didn't…."

Gehrman had grown very still. Wallar looked to his face but it was blanketed in shadow, his expression unreadable. "Gehrman?"

Laurence sighed, and the heavy, almost awed tenor of his voice was like flint being struck. All at once Gehrman fell upon him, latching on with lips and teeth to the wound Atheny had already bit into his neck. Rather than fight, Laurence welcomed him—touched the back of his head and drew him in, like a mother drawing a babe to her breast.

"Can you see?" he whispered as Gehrman drank from his throat. "Do you see it?"

"Gehrman!" Wallar shoved his fingers into the corner of Gehrman's mouth, pulling hard at his cheek to try and pry them apart. "Gehrman, stop, you're hurting him!"

Gehrman reared back, licking blood from his lips. His eyes were wild, and though they were not far apart in size, Wallar knew he had no hope of fighting him off, if it came to that. All he could do was cram more gauze against Laurence's neck, staunching as much of the blood and its scent as possible.

"It's all right," Laurence mumbled as he worked. "I'm all right. Don't you want—"

"Hush." Wallar grabbed the matches from their satchels and used one to light the end of a scrap of gauze. Once some of it had been singed, he burned his fingertips stamping the flame out and then ripped the gauze in two. "Here," he said, cramming one piece into Gehrman's nose. "To block the smell."

"I'm sorry," said Gehrman as he slowly came to his senses. "I don't know what…."

"It's all right." Wallar shoved the remaining piece into his nostril, breathing in the smoke. He climbed, coughing, to his feet. "Let's hurry back."

"Right…."

Wallar helped Gehrman to his feet, and once they were assured that Laurence was as secure as possible they turned to continue onward. He took two steps and felt a pain in his ankle, sharp like needles, but he paid it no mind. All that mattered to him was that Laurence was safe.

After running blindly for almost an hour, Gehrman spotted the gleam of a lamp. They crept closer and discovered Atheny standing alongside the cobblestone path. Blood freckled her face but her eyes were clear, full of guilt as she hurried to greet them.

"I was coming back for you," she swore. "Oh Laurence, I'm so—"

"Let's hurry," said Gehrman. "And put out the light, before someone spots you. The whole school will have heard of this soon."

Atheny stopped him before he could continue on. "Dores is already out searching," she said. "I saw him. I'll lead him away so you can make it back inside."

"If he catches you, you'll be expelled."

Atheny scoffed. "Expel a daughter of Cainhurst? I'd like to see him try." She took Wallar's hand, giving it a brief, hard squeeze. "Tell him I'm sorry," she said, and then she turned, dashing into the woods and making as much noise as possible.

"Good luck," Wallar said under his breath, and he and Gehrman moved off the path. A few minutes later they heard a large figure streaking into the woods further off—the heavy footfalls that all Byrgenwerth students feared. Once Dores was dedicated to his chase, the trio made their escape safely back into the campus.

Wallar led them back to his dormitory room. With the door secured behind them he expected to feel some relief, but he was sweating as profusely as ever, his sight blurred at the edges as he dumped out their satchels on the desk. "Put him on the bed," he instructed.

"He should be in the infirmary," said Gehrman, though he did as asked. "He may need a transfusion."

"If we take him to Trudent, we may as well have let Dores catch us." Wallar fumbled through the items until he found the vial of Laurence's blood taken from before the experiment's onset. "I'll give him this," he said as he returned. "It's not much, but at least it's his own blood. Maybe…"

Wallar stopped. "Oh, no," he whispered as he searched the bags again. Unrewarded, he shoved them aside. "Damnation. We left the transfusion equipment." He began clawing the desk drawers open. "Laurence took his entire kit to the mill, and—"

He stumbled, and when he tried to right himself, he was startled to find his left leg wouldn't hold him. With an ungraceful squawk he collapsed, awkwardly gripping the desk chair. Suddenly everything was spinning, and his stomach clenched with nausea. It was more than fatigue from their bizarre ordeal—he felt fevered, and when he finally expelled the gauze from his nose, he was startled by a smell of rot.

"I hear it," Laurence continued to mumble senselessly from the bed. "I can hear the water…."

"Are you all right?" asked Gehrman as he lit the room's lamp.

Wallar knew the answer too well to speak it. He drew his pant leg up, and was shocked at how red and bloated his calf was. It burned beneath his touch. His foot was so swollen he had difficulty removing his shoe, blood on his ankle.

Gerhman joined him. "A viper bite," he said tremulously. "It must have…how did you walk the whole way back like that?"

Wallar was still speechless. He had devoted so much of his worry toward Laurence during their flight through the woods he had only the barest memory of the bite, let alone any pain or impairment. His heel already showed spots of rotted black. "Laurence," he said, dazed, as the symptoms of the venom made themselves boldly known to him. He tried to pull himself up. "He needs blood…."

Gehrman scooped him up. "I'm taking you to Trudent," he said. "She can send someone with a measure of blood for him."

He rounded the foot of the bed, but before he could make it to the door, Laurence suddenly sat up. With strength he had never before displayed, he snatched Wallar by the front of his robes and pulled him from Gehrman's arms, dragging him to the mattress. Wallar barely understood what had happened, but Laurence was climbing over him, and without warning a coppery mouth forced itself to his.

His blood was sweet. Wallar could have never anticipated how fully it overwhelmed him, even just a few drops stirring him to a violent hunger. He quaked with an unidentifiable need, and despite all the resistance he had displayed until that point, he clutched Laurence to him and suckled at his mangled lips. His already unsteady mind clouded over with warm and soothing mist that made his throbbing leg seem far away, irrelevant, like the twinkling of a distant star.

And the just as suddenly, Laurence pulled back. He turned himself about, crawling down Wallar's long body to reach the offending ankle despite Gehrman's anxious protests. It wasn't until he heard the quiet pop of a jar seal being opened that Wallar realized the inside of his robe was warm, as if a hand had just been in it. The blood was missing.

Laurence grabbed Wallar's ankle. Even just the touch was scorching, and Wallar cried out into his palms, but Laurence didn't startle. He only tightened his grip, twisting Wallar's foot outward until his knee ached—he had no choice but to roll onto his stomach. As painful as the hands were, what followed was worse. Wallar had to bit into the pillow to keep from screaming when Laurence's teeth sank into the wound already carved by the unseen viper.

"Laurence, _stop_ ," Gehrman was saying urgently. "It's too late for that."

Laurence gave his head a sharp jerk, laying the wound further open—and almost rendering Wallar unconscious from agony in the process. But rather than try to suck the venom out, he spat what blood had touched him and then straddled the back of Wallar's knee to keep his leg in place.

"Have faith, friend," said Laurence, and he poured the contents of the jar into Wallar's open wound.

The heat consumed Wallar immediately, blazing up and down his vessels until he thought he might combust. Just as Laurence had described, his pulse soared to a fearsome allegro, beating all sensible thought from his brain and rushing the air in and out of his lungs. The bed turned to waves beneath his chest and he was afloat, adrift, swirling. The room grew as dark as the night sky, and when he squinted into the infinite, empty expanse, he thought he saw a shimmer somewhere far beyond. It was too faint to be light. It lay at the other end of the universe and within his every busy cell at once, like a thread stretched between him and the face of God. Its reverberations reached him and he quivered with ecstasy.

"Laurence, you must let me take him," Gehrman was saying. His voice thundered through Wallar's ears and into his bones. "They'll have to take the leg—any longer and his life will be in danger."

"Bring the lamp closer," said Laurence.

He did so, and Wallar's ears were so uncommonly keen in that moment that the sharp intake of his breath seemed to draw all air from the room. Then there came silence, and Wallar's focus scattered. He could feel Laurence's hand stroking the back of his leg, at first agonizing and then exhilarating. When his peers finally resumed conversing, he had no hope of making out their words. He was roiling like autumn clouds across the horizon and the concerns of humans mattered not at all.

It wasn't until Laurence touched his face that he grounded himself once more. "Wallar," he was saying, brushing his cheeks with gentle fingertips. "Wallar, can you hear me?"

"I can hear the water," Wallar murmured, listening to the tiny droplets cascading down his veins. His skin shimmered like the surface of a lake and he felt at peace. "I can."

"Very good." Laurence kissed his temple as he settled down into bed with him. "Gehrman, you should go back to your room. They can't know you were a part of this—you don't have the protections we have."

"I'm afraid to leave you," Gehrman confessed. "What if he's not as healed as he seems? What if you—"

"If we're doomed, you being here won't change that. Please, look after yourself, now."

Wallar peered blearily upward, but there was no making out Gehrman's expression even in the lamplight. "God help you," Gehrman said, and with that, he left.

"What's happening?" asked Wallar, struggling for coherency in light of Gehrman's concern. "My leg…?"

"Can you not tell? The blood is already mending it. There's nothing for you to fear, my friend."

Laurence opened his robes and tugged Wallar closer, wrapping him up. He was so incredibly warm, so soothing and irresistible, Wallar forgot all self-conscious shame and wriggled eagerly into his arms. He turned his nose against Laurence's gauzed throat and breathed in the sweet stain of his blood. All other cares receded from his mind and there was only Laurence, and the bond they shared, connecting them to the whispers of an ocean at their edges.

"Her blood is in you now," said Laurence. "How does it feel?"

He drew aimless shapes against Wallar's back with his fingernails—each trail blazed with exquisite energy as if leaving brands on his skin. Wallar took them in, sighing deeply with content. "It's beautiful," he replied. "It's everything…."

Wallar tilted his head enough to beg Laurence for a kiss. Any other time he would not have dared, but he was alight with hope and courage, even more so when the kiss was granted. Their lips melted together as they twisted on the bed, one in the same creature, every nerve from their brains prickling with insight.

Wallar hoped to stay there forever.

***

The door opened. Normally the creek of the hinges, having not been preceded with a polite knock, would have stirred Wallar immediately to wakefulness. Laurence, more so. But though several hours had passed since they had taken to the bed, they were still groggy with blood loss and venom, panic and rapture. What visitor could have been worth abandoning their haven? It wasn't until the sound of approaching footsteps was punctuated with the thud of a cane that either was drawn awake. Laurence went rigid just before the man's voice banished all doubt to his identity.

"Laurence."

Wallar held his breath. He and Laurence shared a brief, desperate look before untangling themselves from their robes and each other. By the time they managed to sit up and face their guest, he was already seating himself on the opposite bed. His comparatively short stature was exaggerated by the thick robes that designated his tenure, and from beneath his cap, his dark eyes gleamed like onyx. Byrgenwerth's more honored mentor regarded them with patient stoicism.

"Master Willem," Laurence greeted, his voice still rough with sleep. "Please, pardon us for…not being…."

Master Willem tilted his head to one side, and Laurence trailed off. Wallar had never seen his friend so ill composed and it gave him a chill. He waited for a stern reprimand, harsh words and promises of punishment. He was even half convinced they would be made to endure his cane. But Willem only continued to watch them, silent and unmoving, passing private judgment on them with each moment that passed.

At long last Laurence managed to gather himself up. "I'm sorry," he said, though even Wallar wasn't sure if he was sincere. "There isn't any left."

Master Willem raised an eyebrow,and still did not respond. So Laurence continued. "I didn't squander it," he insisted. "Wallar and I, we prepared an experiment. The outcome was not as we expected or intended, but—"

"Laurence," Willem interrupted, and Laurence stopped speaking so quickly that Wallar could hear his teeth clap together. But he didn't speak more than that, and as the silence dragged on, Laurence had no choice but to make another attempt.

"There were others," he carried on. "But you know I won't give you their names. Their only offense was to trust me, and…" Frustrated by Willem's continued silence, he looked to Wallar. "Show him your leg."

Wallar's heart was in his throat as he reached for his pant leg, but he didn't have the chance to raise it—Master Willem abruptly stood, the end of his cane scraping eerily against the hardwood floor. His students looked on in motionless dread as he took two steps to put him directly before them. He reached out, and Laurence was again struck very still as Willem cupped his chin, tilting it up.

Their eyes met. Willem's were as impassive as ever, Laurence's an attempt at respectful defiance. Wallar had the fleeting impression that Laurence had shown greater confidence when faced with a God. Something hard and tense passed between them, and then Willem sighed.

"You disappoint me," he said.

Wallar could hear the cracks snapping through Laurence's chest. As the master turned away, his student receded into his shoulders, fists trembling against his knees, his head lowered. The sight of it broke Wallar's heart, too, and without thinking of consequences he called after Willem.

"It wasn't just Laurence," he said with tremulous passion. "I encouraged him. I—"

"I expect both of you at your lectures within the hour," said Willem. Without looking back, he showed himself out and closed the door behind him.

Wallar cringed, and once Willem's footsteps had disappeared down the hall, he turned to his roommate. "Laurence," he said, but then his voice died. He watched, sick to his stomach, as Laurence hung his head. A creature as radiant as him should never be stricken with such bitterness. How could anyone scorn the most courageous of humanity's offerings? It was unconscionable that Laurence be made to suffer in any form, and in that moment Wallar hated Willem for that with a ferocity approaching madness.

"He only says that because he doesn't know what you've done," Wallar found himself saying. "What you braved for our sakes—how you saved my life. The beautiful things you've shown me. We can make him see."

Laurence looked to him, still wound tight with frustration and shame. Even then he was beautiful. "What are you suggesting?"

Wallar took in a deep breath. "We go back to the catacombs," he said, the heat in his blood spurring his enthusiasm. "We've braved it already—what do we have to fear now? You're the only one that can bring to the world what we've experienced. It's your duty, isn't it?" He took Laurence's hand and gripped it tightly. "And you're not alone."

Laurence stared back at him for a long moment. Perhaps it should have concerned Wallar that his trust was not returned with immediate and unfaltering confidence. But whether it did or not, Laurence's slow smile cast those misgivings aside.

"I know," said Laurence. He squeezed Wallar's hand. "I am glad to have you."

And have him he did.

**Author's Note:**

> As a fan of the game's lore I thought you might find this interesting: While hunting through a Japanese text dump, I came across the description for sedatives, which is a little different than in English. It implies that the students of Byrgenwerth were drinking human blood to calm their nerves long before the Healing Church existed, which I thought was pretty cool and helped inspire this fic. I hope you enjoy it! Happy holidays!


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